Orange
by OWLSCRATCH
Summary: The Fellowship was left saddened and confused after Gandalf fell into the abyss with Balrog of Morgoth. A strange rainstorm led them to the shack of an eccentric, powerful, dancing witch named Ofelia. Well, Gandalf had warned them about her. Legolas/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! So, I wrote this mostly for my own enjoyment, but I really would like to make this into a full length story. It will likely depend on how well this is received. Do people even read LOTR fiction anymore? I hope so! (If turned into a full length story, it would more than likely be a Legolas/OC).**

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Gandalf had warned them about her.

"When you think of witches, Frodo Baggins, what's the first thing that comes to mind?" asked Gandalf the Gray to the young halfling at his side. The rest of the Fellowship—actually just Boromir, Aragorn, and Samwise Gamgee—led the slow-moving pack of nine over the rocky terrain of Middle-earth. "You likely think of something wicked, am I right?"

Frodo, his brows furrowed in confusion, looked up to the wizard. "Why do you ask, Gandalf?" The ring suddenly seemed to weigh much more in his right pocket. Subtlety, he slid his hand inside of the fabric opening to roll the ring around between his thumb and pointer finger. Frodo had grown increasingly paranoid and always had to check that it was still with him, or at least in the presence of the Fellowship. "Are we in danger?"

Gandalf chuckled heartily, "We are always in danger, Frodo Baggins."

Peregrin Took, trailing a bit behind the pack with Gimli, was the first to speak up. "Witches," he said, a look of disgust suddenly crossing his face. "The word just tastes filthy."

"Witches! Witches! Witches!" shouted Meriadoc Brandybuck. The entire Fellowship paused in step before they turned around to narrow their eyes at him. The hobbit shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "Doesn't taste like anything to me, Pip."

The Fellowship turned back around to continue their journey forward. It was still very light and very hot outside, likely mid-afternoon as the sun beamed very high over the rocky lands. They had all just come from Rivendell where they had been put together by decision of the council in order to destroy the ring. The journey had not been long for Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli so far, seeing as they had joined the Fellowship not too long ago. The rest, however, started to feel the strain of a long day's departure in their aching limbs and were perspiring through their clothing.

Frodo had been pondering Gandalf's question as he clambered over rocks and large boulders. "Gandalf," he began, regaining his footing after having almost fallen over. "Why did you ask me about my opinion on witches?"

Gandalf sighed heavily; it seemed to reach the very bottom of his lungs. "Should I get separated from this Fellowship," he said, now addressing the group in its entirety. It's not like they hadn't been listening in on the conversation anyway. "I want you all to take refuge—"

"In the company of a witch?" Boromir practically screamed as he turned around to face the wizard. "A venomous, selfish, wicked she-demon? Please, tell me that you are able to joke at a time like this."

"Quiet now," Gandalf calmly replied. "Many of the tales you hear about witches have absolutely no truth to them…" Gandalf frowned. "Well, _some_ of them are true." He stopped short and steadied himself with the large staff in his hand, lowering himself to sit on a boulder. "Sit for a moment. Everyone sit down for a moment." Without question or complaint, the members of the Fellowship either took seats on the ground or remained standing with their arms crossed. "This witch whom I speak of is a personal friend of mine. _Ofelia the Orange_. Surely you have all heard of her?"

The hobbits were having a hard time masking the excitement on their faces. Of course they knew of Ofelia the Orange! They had grown up with old tales of her youthful beauty, generosity, and extreme eccentricity. She had a knack for peculiar things and was even rumored to have had owned fifty five different species of reptiles at once, and then eaten every single one of them whole. That always shocked the hobbits, but annoyed Gandalf greatly. Ofelia wasn't that odd. The witch was last heard to have been dwelling somewhere in between the Misty Mountains and Lothlórien.

Naturally, Merry broke first. An impish grin grew almost too wide for his face and he nodded rapidly with enthusiasm. "Legend says that she controls every single aspect of the weather right down to the very last snowflake!"

Again, Gandalf chuckled heartily. "To a certain radius, my dear Merry."

"And we get to meet her?" asked Pippin, slowly losing his composure.

And meet her, they did.

After the presumed death of Gandalf the Gray, the Fellowship somberly continued on. The hobbits, all except for Frodo, could not contain their sorrow for very long after escaping the Mines of Moria. Sam tried very hard to keep his composure, mentally reprimanding himself for his lack of strength in front of the Fellowship, particularly Master Frodo. Merry and Pippin wept quietly as they walked on in full view of the entire Fellowship. Their only hope was that they might stumble upon Ofelia the Orange by chance. Everyone else was very weary from battle and travel and in need of a safe place to rest for the night. A bit of food could not hurt either.

They had been walking for hours without rest. Merry's feet were beginning to blister, but he still continued forward, albeit in a bit of pain. It wasn't until he heard the gentle patter of a rainstorm approaching that he stopped, halting the remainder of the Fellowship.

"What is it, Merry?" asked Aragorn.

"There's a storm comi—" Before he was even able to get his words out, a heavy rain came about the Fellowship. A collective sigh was shared by everyone. They were drenched in seconds. But there was something very strange about this storm. It came from inside of the forest and ended mere inches to the left of the Fellowship. Merry stuck his hand out and was amazed when he felt nothing falling into his palm but the cool air of dusk. He had never been more excited in his entire hobbit life. "Ofelia," he whispered. "It's got to be Ofelia! Gandalf did say that her power only spanned to a certain radius!" Before anyone else could react, Merry bolted into the darkening forest. The Fellowship was hot on his heels, screaming profanity as they were hit by offshoots and lost their footing on the uneven terrain. But Merry just kept running forward, managing not to stumble or injure himself once.

Gasping, he stopped at a small clearing in front of him. The Fellowship emerged from the forest, ready to knock Merry onto his bottom, but they stopped as well. For in front of them was a ratty shack with a smoking pipe sticking from the top. There were linens, now soaked, hanging from posts in the ground and clothing stretched across rusted racks in front of the shack. The shack did not look too bad in the growing darkness, but it probably looked awful in daylight. From the shack, tavern music seemed to seep out. Slowly, cautiously, the Fellowship approached the front door. Aragorn nudged the door open with his sword and the men of the Fellowship stood in amazement at the scene in front of them.

Dancing amidst low-hanging ceiling fixtures was a woman. She was tall, thin, and wore a loose fitting, long sleeve dress in some obnoxiously bright shade of orange. The woman spun around several times, never seeming to grow dizzy at all. She turned to face the men at her door and, in that moment, they had never seen someone so beautiful before. Legend was true. Her long, wavy, auburn hair seemed to be a vibrant red in the light coming from the fireplace. Her eyes were a grainy hazel with bits of bright green flecks in them.

Smiling, she skipped to the door and took hold of Merry and Pippin's wet hands. She backtracked into the small living area and spun them around. The woman was laughing with a genuine satisfaction, a laugh that was as beautiful as it was infectious. "Come, hobbits! Dance with me!" she called as she released hold of Merry and Pippin's hands to grab Frodo and Sam. The woman brought them into the living area and pranced about with them to the tavern music coming from somewhere unidentifiable.

Aragorn cleared his throat. "Miss—" His voice was drowned out by the music. "Miss Orange?"

"Oh, dear, no one calls me that! Ofelia!" she called back, not breaking away from the band of dancing hobbits.

Boromir stepped forward a bit. "Miss Ofelia—"

Ofelia twirled herself around and skipped toward the front door, still bouncing on her toes. She grabbed onto Boromir's calloused hands and quickly moved them about. "Would you like to dance as well?" she asked giddily.

"Um, not exactly," he replied sheepishly.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Very well then. I have no business with those who will not dance with me." She danced off into the living area with the four bouncing hobbits, spinning among them.

Pushing through the men at the door, Legolas came forward and said something rather lengthy in Elven tongue which no one recognized. Suddenly, the music cut. All went silent. Even the heavy rain outside seemed to dull to a slight drizzle. Ofelia stood still at the center of her living area. The flames in the fireplace multiplied tenfold until they were nearly shooting out of the stone barrier. The four hobbits noticed her fingers twitch slightly and moved a ways away from her, fearing something unheard of by the old tales.

Ofelia breathed heavy, but replied rather calmly in Elven tongue.

Looking about the Fellowship with uncertainty, Legolas answered quietly.

Without turning around, Ofelia said, "Tell me that you lie, elf. Tell me that you lie so that I may go back to dancing amidst these halflings."

Legolas bowed his head solemnly. "I'm sorry, my lady. I dare not joke at a time like this."

Slowly, the witch turned around to face the men at the door. "Did he tell you to come here?"

Aragorn nodded. "Yes, he did. Gandalf said that you would offer us refuge for the night if we were to be separated from him. If the tales hold any truth, you are a very generous being."

Ofelia looked down at the hobbits, then back to the men at the door. "Four halflings, two men, an elf, and a dwarf," she noted, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. "What must you all be doing while in the company of one another?"

"The One Ring," answered Sam carefully.

Ofelia's eyes quickly widened with fear. She reached forward and grabbed hold of the lapel of Aragon's coat. The witch pulled him forward until they were mere inches from each other. "Tell me that the hobbit lies," she hissed. "Tell me that you are all a band of liars so that I may then send you on your way."

Aragorn shook his head. "I'm afraid not, my lady."

She didn't release her hold on his lapel. Aragorn's eyes grew wide and his face began to twitch ever so slightly. She was in his head, filing through his memories, watching the journey of the One Ring across Middle-earth. Her eyes glittered as she searched through his mind. Ofelia saw many battles, a wounded hobbit, Rivendell, even the death of Gandalf the Gray. The witch quickly drew back as did Aragorn, both were panting heavily.

"Come," she said, finally able to catch her breath. "You must all hide." With that, she rushed to the kitchen area with the Fellowship close behind her. She knelt to the ground and pushed a threadbare rug aside, revealing a door that must go somewhere underground.


	2. Chapter 2

**So, I've decided to turn it into a full length story. Thanks for all of the encouraging reviews! I hope there are much more to come! And I also hope that you like this chapter!**

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Ofelia's generosity was always the prominent point of discussion in those old tales. They did indeed have truth to them, to which the Fellowship was very grateful for. Ofelia gave the members of the Fellowship as much as she possibly could that night. She roasted them pork loin in the oven, gave them fresh whiskey from the decanter, and set out sugary treats for those with a sweet tooth. They ate very well for the first time in many long days. Aragorn promised to make sure that her acts of kindness did not go unrewarded, to which the witch smiled and declined anything in return.

She had not let them go back upstairs into the shack for fear of wandering Black Riders searching the area. Anything that she thought they would need had already been brought down into the dimly lit unground shelter; things such as extra food and water, plush sacks (seeing as she did not own many pillows), lamps, and linens. By the time that she had finished arranging the area, it looked very cozy and strangely homey, like a place they had all been familiar with.

"I will not come down until dawn breaks," she had told them. "You will not come up. Understood?"

The Fellowship nodded in unison. The halflings, as well as Gimli, were already prepping their sleeping areas by rearranging sacks and trading blankets with one another. Ofelia noticed that the Fellowship had not removed any of their weapons since they had arrived at her shack.

"Your kindness is greatly appreciated," said Legolas as he bowed to the woman. His long, almost ivory-colored hair fell over his shoulders as he leaned forward in respect of the witch.

Ofelia smiled ever so slightly, bracing herself on the rusted metal banister by the steps. "As is your company," she replied. "Rest now, weary Fellowship. You are safe here tonight." That being said, Ofelia slowly climbed the rickety wooden steps, soon disappearing out of eyesight. A soft thump sounded above as she sealed the door and secured the padlock in place for the night.

Night quickly faded and morning light had come very early the next day.

Ofelia moved the threadbare rug away from the underground opening, unfastened the padlock, and opened the door. "Rise, my friends," she called down into the darkness. "Dawn is upon us."

Breakfast had long since been prepared and set out on a small table in the kitchen area. There were softly scrambled cheese eggs, slabs of meat, a bowl of chopped fruit, and what appeared to be porridge with milk. Ofelia set out her best tableware for the members of the Fellowship to dine with. The bravest of men (hobbits, elves, dwarfs) always deserved to have their food served on the finest of china.

At last, the Fellowship emerged from the opening in the floor. They seemed well rested and ready to carry on with the day as they all already had their weapons attached to them. It was the dwarf, Gimli, who first rushed for the breakfast table to grab a plate. He made indistinguishable noises of delight as he loaded his plate full of meat (bacon, pork sausages, patties) and eggs, passing on the porridge and fruits.

Ofelia huffed, "Is the dwarf always this eager at dawn?"

Aragorn chuckled, "I don't recognize him." He looked at Ofelia from the corner of his eye. "His name is Gimli."

One corner of Ofelia's lips turned upward in a smirk. "Gimli," she began. "Son of Glóin. I know." The witch then shifted her weight onto one foot, popped her hip, and crossed her arms over her chest. "Your memories were very helpful, dear Aragorn." She watched the rest of the Fellowship grab tableware and fill their plates around the crowded table. Aragorn still stood beside her, watching his friends excitedly shovel food into their awaiting mouths. "Are you not hungry?"

"Eager, you could say," he answered, grinning.

Minutes later, after all of the food had been eaten and the plates were washed and filed away into the cupboards, Ofelia stood in front of the Fellowship. So incredibly blinded by the presence of breakfast, they had not even noticed how different she seemed to look from the night prior. Ofelia donned a crown of small, white flowers with beautiful golden centers atop her long, wavy, auburn tresses. She wore a short sleeved, white lace dress which fell just below her knees as well as a pair of golden sandals with straps lacing up to the middle of her calf. Her nails were neatly trimmed, not like a typical witch in an old tales. Her hazel eyes looked to be bigger and brighter in the growing daylight. If anything, she had seemed to appear more like an angel to the Fellowship than a witch.

"Oi," began Gimli, suddenly taken aback. "You don't look like a witch to me!"

Ofelia smiled sincerely. "Should I don a mole? A large, crooked nose? Did you expect me to be wicked and green like the witches in the rest of those tales?"

Gimli's face sunk. "No. No, my lady. My apologies."

The witch waved her hand dismissively. "Forgiven, son of Glóin," she replied, winking at Aragorn.

There was a bout of silence before Aragorn cleared his throat. "Well," he began, bowing in front of the woman. The rest of the Fellowship quickly followed suit. "If we may, my lady, we would like to be on our way. Thank you for allowing us to take refuge in your home. Your kindness will not be forgotten."

"I advise you all to wait a moment," she said just as the group turned to face the front door. "You are missing a member of your Fellowship, brave ones. It will be dangerous walking these lands without Gandalf," Ofelia replied.

"Well, what do you suggest we do, Miss Ofelia?" asked Sam, stepping forward with the pans on his back clinking together.

She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, the smirk never leaving her face.

Frodo raised an eyebrow in confusion. "You… would like to join us?"

The witch nodded. "Friends of Gandalf are friends of mine," she replied, bowing slightly. "I offer my assistance and strongly urge you to take it."

Warily, Boromir asked, "Do you fight?"

Ofelia looked to the man in front of her. "Do not underestimate me," she answered rather curtly.

Quickly, Legolas pulled Boromir to the back of the crowd and stepped forward. He bowed with one hand behind his back (clasping his bow) and the other across his front. "Our apologies, my lady, but I could not bear the thought of a woman being in danger while in this company. Gandalf surely would not appreciate this Fellowship putting your life in jeopardy."

With an amused look on her face, the witch pursed her lips and began to stroll around near the fireplace. "What I gauge from you, elf, is that because I am a woman you will not allow me to join you on your quest. Is that correct?" Legolas did not reply to her question. "_What I gauge, elf_—" she said, her voice rising. "—is that you think I'm vulnerable—" The flames in the fireplace seemed to grow like they had last night. Ofelia continued her leisurely stroll around the living area with her hands clasped together in front of her. She kicked her feet along the crooked wood flooring like a bored child would. "—you think I'm _weak_." With every word, her voice seemed to rise and gradually grow in intensity, but never lost its sarcastic tang. Her head rose slowly, eyes fixed sharply on the Mirkwood elf. "Well," the witch whispered, her irises glowing. "You are sorely mistaken, elf. I wonder what Gandalf would think of this ignorance."

The witch could tell that she had made Legolas very angry. "Many female elves go into battle—" he began, but was cut off by Ofelia.

"Yes?" she asked, a teasing smile on her face. She noted the way that his jaw locked into place and his posture noticeably stiffened. For such a beautiful witch, Ofelia sure knew how to infuriate someone in the worst ways possible. "What's the difference between those she-elves and I? Am I a delicate soul, softened by years of isolation? You think that I will not strike down a man at a moment's notice?" she asked. "I have killed better than you, elf." Ofelia continued to walk around in front of the fireplace. "_Stronger_ than you."

Aragorn slowly, carefully felt his side. He readied the hilt of his sword in his hand for things were unexpectedly beginning to take a turn. "Miss Orange…" he began in a cautionary tone.

"Do not do anything you will regret, young Strider," warned the witch, her tone strangely sweet. "I may be unconventional and ludicrous in my ways, but I am not to be crossed." Ofelia gently drew the sheer curtains from the window and swathed herself in them, twirling around before the Fellowship. Tavern music began to start from out of nowhere. The tales were wrong, she wasn't eccentric. She was insane.

"Well, I'll be damned," muttered Boromir.

Legolas' jaw was still locked very tightly in place. He had been formulating his reply for a while. "I did not mean to offend you, my lady," he answered. With every word he had said, the tavern music seemed to grow louder and increasingly dynamic. She was drowning him out. She was embarrassing him. "My lady," he shouted, although it could not be heard by anyone.

"What?" She continued to skip around while covered in the draperies. "Will the halflings not dance with me again?"

The entire Fellowship shared a look of confusion. The hobbits did not move from their spots. In fact, Frodo even seemed to shrink away and tuck himself into the side of Boromir. What if this witch was not as trustworthy as Gandalf had said? What if her beauty was the bait? Surely she had to have lured men into her shack and done away with them somehow? Witches were wicked, right?

Aragorn put out a hand in defense. "My lady, I can assure you that no man, elf, hobbit, or dwarf of this Fellowship meant to insult you."

The music cut abruptly like it had last night. "But you did, nonetheless," she replied quickly and calmly in mid-step. "You have disrespected me in my own home by readying that weapon." Ofelia wrapped the drapes around her in a bizarre, complicated fashion. "You are all very brave, but you lack wisdom. You are foolish to disregard my help for the sole fact that I am a woman."

Aragorn was clearly exhausted by this argument and opened his mouth to reply, but Frodo beat him to it. "How would you like to join us, Miss Ofelia? We would very much—"

"Say no more!" she shouted with delight, a smile breaking on her face. The witch dropped her tapestry and quickly ran to take ahold of Frodo's hands. Tavern music started up again (as a collective sigh rang out among the Fellowship) and she gathered the hobbit into her arms and spun around. He was but the weight of a feather. Frodo found himself laughing in the arms of the witch, momentarily forgetting the task at hand.

Ofelia had always loved hobbits. They were her favorite thing about Middle-earth because they were always so kind-hearted, buoyant, and exciting. Halflings were like gold to her. She was very ready and willing to lose her life for a hobbit—any hobbit—on this quest if need be. The rest of the Fellowship, well, she would have to wait and see if they were really worth the trouble.

Frodo was almost saddened when the witch set him down on the floor and skipped away. Ofelia passed through the Fellowship with ease, seeing as they all parted around her, avoiding the witch like she had been carrying a plague on her back. Still bouncing on her toes, she removed a dark orange cloak from its post by the front door and pulled it on. The sleeves had always been a bit loose and the cloak was long, but it was comfortable. The witch carefully patted the pockets and found that a small dagger was present within the left one. Ofelia grabbed her orange staff leaning against the wall and turned back to face the Fellowship. "Well?" she asked, dancing on her way out of the door to the still booming tavern music. "What are you fools waiting for? We have got a ring to deliver," Ofelia called behind her.

"What in Middle-earth have we done?" asked Boromir after a beat of silence blanketed the Fellowship.

Merry shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "Dunno, but I like her!" He was out of the shack in a flash, hot on the heels of the dancing witch.

"Well, wait for me! Would ya?" called Pippin, bolting out of the front door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Back again! I wanted to upload this a little earlier, but the website seemed to be malfunctioning for me. Anyway, thanks for all of the encourage reviews. Please continue to review! I hope to get to about 20 or so with this chapter! Thank you all and enjoy!**

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"So, Miss Ofelia, what's it like being a witch?" asked Merry, excitedly bouncing on his toes.

Merry and Pippin walked on either side of Ofelia through the forest, matching her in stride and pace. With each step, the witch drew her staff forward and planted it into the soft dirt path like a walking stick. _Plunk. Plunk. Plunk._ Bits of mud spewed up from the ground and matted her ankles with brown. Ofelia's gait seemed surprisingly weak (compared to her confident, intimidating footwork at the shack) and her knuckles blanched cream white from the intensity of her grip on the orange staff. She was slightly hunched over as if in a great deal of pain.

Yet, she still managed a smile for the hobbits. "It's like being… a witch! I know nothing but this," Ofelia replied, motioning to her entirety with her free hand. She stopped for a moment to carefully kneel down to the height of a halfling, sharing a sly look with both Merry and Pippin. "Is this what it's like to be a hobbit, young ones?" the witch asked, an eyebrow arched. She ruffled Pippin's hair gently, eliciting a grand smile from the halfling.

"You've got it all down, Miss Ofelia!" replied Pippin cheerfully. "Although, your feet are a wee bit tiny."

"It's all in the feet!" added Merry.

"Well, the legs, too."

"And the ears."

"I see," interrupted Ofelia. "I have got a long way to go before becoming a hobbit." Ofelia struggled to stand erect. Her mouth twisted into a look of agony as she straightened herself with the help of her staff. The hobbits noticed her discomfort, but said nothing. Timidly, Merry took her free hand in his own and flashed a sweet, toothy smile at the witch. Pippin curled closer to her as if to silently offer support should she need it. Together, they all walked. This is why hobbits were her favorite of all Middle-earth creatures.

It had been nearing mid-morning; the sun was already burning bright in the clear blue sky. The shade of the forest was hardly enough to keep cool the many members of the Fellowship. Aragorn and Legolas were leading, followed by Frodo and Sam, then Gimli and Boromir behind them. The trio was a considerable distance behind everyone else.

Legolas turned his head slightly, noting how far behind the witch and the two halflings had fallen. He had taken his embarrassment like any sensible man would, with silence. Just because he was taking it in stride did not mean that he had forgiven the wicked witch for the humiliation she had caused him. Humility. It was a new feeling to the Mirkwood elf, a new sensation entirely. He had best let it go before it ruined him.

"Merry," called Boromir suddenly. "Pippin." He whistled lowly at the hobbits and jerked his head forward. "Why don't you two join me up here?"

Ofelia chuckled weakly, "Why is that? Do you not trust the halflings in my care?"

"Pardon me," replied Boromir. "But it looks to me that you are in _their_ care."

A smirk formed on Legolas' face and, though he thought ill of it, he added, "You do not look well, my lady. Shall we rest for a moment?" His tone was contemptuous, if not acidic. They had not been travelling but two hours, to offer her a moment of rest was insulting. Of course, the elf had meant it to be.

"No," answered Ofelia firmly. "No. I will be fine."

Frodo briefly turned back to survey the slow-moving witch. "You are quite pale, Miss Ofelia. Perhaps a moment of rest would do you some good?"

Ofelia's large, doe-like eyes seemed dimmer and duller, like a bright light had just gone out inside of them. Her long tresses were growing dry and her roots appeared to be graying. She looked washed out and exhausted like she had lost a great deal of blood. Even in her current state, the witch still looked very beautiful and strangely held tight to her youthful look.

"I'll rest when I'm dead, Frodo Baggins." Ofelia straightened herself as much as she could, trying very hard to suppress the whimper threatening to leave her lips. "Rest in daylight, especially in the forest, leaves us open and vulnerable to attack. I will not risk this quest for a moment of relaxation." Merry noticed the grip on his hand tighten, but not by much. "The halflings are safe with me."

"It would rest easier on my conscience if you would all come up front," said Aragorn with authority. He stopped, halting the followers, and turned around to face the Fellowship. "So," he began, motioning toward the space in front of him. "If you would, Miss Ofelia."

The witch eyed Aragorn warily, her jaw locked and eyebrow arched. There was a bit of a standoff between the two, a power play. When Ofelia saw that she would not have it her way, she sighed in defeat. A deep-set scowl formed on her face as she trudged through the soft mud, slowly, with both Merry and Pippin at her sides. She kept her darkened eyes trained on Aragorn the entire time. The grimace still apparent on her face, the witch stood face-to-face with the man and watched his unfaltering blue eyes.

"Thank you," he said quietly, seeming to bow slightly with his arms outstretched. Aragorn turned around and continued walking down the path with Legolas beside him.

Ofelia felt a hand on the small of her back and quickly whipped her head to see Gimli with a somber look on his face. "Come," he ordered softly, leading her forward.

The witch now felt the white hot burn of embarrassment inside of her chest. She had crudely mocked the elf for thinking she was vulnerable. Yet, here she was, being led by two hobbits (whose help she didn't mind) and a dwarf with another man not far behind. Oh, how she wished to throw her hood over her head in shame, if she could even manage that.

After a few steps, Ofelia grew extremely weary. She stumbled, but tightened her stronghold on the staff and caught herself before she met the ground. Gimli, Merry, and Pippin all jumped to her aid, but she waved them off like a foul scent in the air. That was, until she stumbled again and failed to catch herself. With his quick reflexes, Legolas turned swiftly and caught her by both bellows, helping the witch back up to her unsteady feet. The corner of his mouth upturned into a smirk and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Yes, my lady," he began, voice laced thick with sarcasm. "You seem quite capable of safe-keeping the hobbits." The elf hooked his arm around her waist and stepped forward, willing the woman to walk along with him. "You will slow us in this state, Miss Ofelia."

"No," she spat, bracing herself against him. "I do not wish to be held by you." The witch pushed against his chest, broke his hold, and fell backwards into the awaiting arms of Boromir. Quickly and without any warning, the man swept Ofelia off of her feet and lifted her into a comfortable cradle.

"Fine," said Boromir. "If you will not walk with the elf, you will be carried."

Aragorn did not turn around as he warned, "Do not fight, Miss Ofelia."

Ofelia rolled her eyes and sighed, "At least give my staff to the halfling," she ordered. "Give my staff to Merry."

Legolas picked up the staff from the ground, rolled it in his hands for a moment, and handed it to Merry. "There you go." He turned around and continued on like nothing at all had happened.

Merry gazed upon the staff with amazement, turning it around in his hands like Legolas had done. He walked with it like the witch had, gently planting it into the soft mud, using it like a walking stick. The staff was a whole three feet taller than the hobbit, but was much lighter than he had imagined it to be.

The witch knew that she did not hate the members of the Fellowship (especially not those four hobbits), she was only angry and irritable because of her current state. In fact, Ofelia did not at all mind being held in the arms of Boromir. It was not that he was particularly extraordinary because he wasn't; Ofelia just liked the feeling of safety and not having to provide it for herself. Cautiously, she laid her head on his chest, but kept her careful eyes trained on the road ahead.

"If I may ask, my lady," started Boromir. "Why so frail all of a sudden? Surely you could have knocked any man on his back with your intricate footwork."

She sighed, knowing that she would have to explain this strange occurrence sooner or later. Leaving home always weakened and whitened her, she had told him. It was the "witches curse" among other things. Should a witch happen to travel far from home, she would grow frailer and paler with each passing minute until she was at her absolute weakest. The curse was placed on a witch at birth, and so far had no remedy except to make a home somewhere else. Ofelia had had many of those over the years.

Everyone went silent. No one had said it, but everyone now questioned her presence on the journey. What were they to do with a crippled witch? She would not be of any use to them if they were to encounter problems further down the road.

The Fellowship walked on still, occasionally passing glances at one another and the witch in Boromir's arms. Speaking of the witch, something very strange suddenly began to happen. The witch's soft skin started to gently wrinkle all over. Her hands, resting on Boromir's chest, became stiff and her fingers frighteningly slender and unnaturally curled. The long, auburn hair which fell in waves over her shoulders was now dull, gray, and stringy. The witch seemed to shrink considerably in her clothing.

Boromir's eyes widened. "Aragorn," he called, quickening his pace. Ofelia felt like nothing in his arms. "It's the witch." He held her away from him. "Something has happened."

Aragorn turned and flinched at the sight of the now elderly witch in Boromir's arms. "My God…"

A twig crackled somewhere within the thicket. Everyone froze, fearing where the noise had come from. Gimli turned to Frodo and Sam and readied his axe, his eyes scanning the forest. "Stay close, hobbits. They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods," he said, beginning to walk forward. "An elf-witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell and are never seen again."

"Huzzah!" cheered Ofelia, her voice hoarse and unrecognizable.

No sooner than the words left her mouth were there arrows trained on every single member of the Fellowship. Haldir, his chin jutting and eyebrow raised, stepped forward. "A dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark." Nonchalantly, he surveyed the group. Haldir's eyes fell on the decrepit, unsightly witch curled into herself. "Ofelia," he gasped.

Quickly, he ordered one of his elves to take her from the arms of Boromir. At first, he resisted, paying no heed to the arrows still trained on him from every direction. He brought Ofelia closer to his chest and appeared to try to tuck her away out of the pining hands of the elf. Ofelia laughed, or wheezed, no one seemed to know. She tapped on Boromir's chest and gave him a reassuring, yellow smile.

"It's safe," she told him, her voice raspy. Before he even had the chance to answer her, she was snatched from his arms and carried off. "Til we meet again in Lothlórien, brave ones!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi! Thank you to everyone who has been leaving reviews. Even short reviews count for me! Keep them coming! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It's the longest so far of the ones that I've written for this story.**

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Ofelia woke to a chilling western breeze.

The witch vaguely remembered being bathed by one dozen hand maidens. They had been very gentle, scrubbing her soft folds and wrinkles with jasmine that they had somehow brought to a lather. She remembered being undressed by them and standing stark-naked with her slender, aching fingers curled at her sides. Ofelia had not even bothered to cover herself, for she no longer had any modesty left to care for. She remembered being pained in her elderly state, any sudden movement made all of her stiff bones creak like an old, noisy rocking chair.

She rose effortlessly, kneading her temples. But strange it was, she thought, that she had not required help standing from her seat on the edge of the bed. Ofelia's bare feet made contact with the cold granite floor and, hissing, she retracted back into the comfort of the plain, white bedspread. Her fingers carefully held the lace trim of the coverlet as she rose to kneel on the bed.

Ofelia scanned the room warily. Lothlórien. Of course. How could she have forgotten?

Directly in front of the bed was an oval-shaped mirror with intricate gold garnish around the edges. The witch crawled closer to the edge of the bed, unable to believe her reflection. There was a beautiful, youthful woman staring back at her. With great skepticism, she touched the soft plain of skin on her arms, no longer wrinkled with age. She looked at her hands, slowly curling her fingers inward toward her body with no arthritic pain. The gray of her hair was gone, replaced with her long, glossy locks of auburn. The color had returned to her face, golden undertones gleaming on her cheeks. She could not stop running her fingers along every expanse of smooth, open skin.

There were quiet footsteps plodding down the length of the corridor outside. Ofelia looked over to see a familiar face donning a smile which appeared majestic to her starry, sleep-filled eyes. "You're awake," Haldir said, standing at the entrance of the bedroom, cloaked in moonlight.

"Haldir!" shouted Ofelia excitedly. The witch disentangled herself from the eiderdown, clambered over the edge of the bed, and ran into the open arms of the elf. She rapidly stamped her feet on the granite floor, shaking the elf in her embrace. "Oh, Haldir! How wonderful it is to see your lovely face again."

"Ofelia," he chuckled deeply. Haldir held the witch out at arm's length before moving his hands upward to hold her face. He was still skeptical himself of the youthful being in front of him. "You grow more beautiful and bizarre each time I see you."

"How else would you have it?" she asked, seizing his hands. Ofelia spun herself around before pulling the elf flush against her body, putting one hand on his shoulder and holding the other. With a smile (which was no longer yellowing), the witch led him around the bedroom in a humorous waltz. She hummed a quiet melody which grew increasingly loud and dramatic in nature. This was not Ofelia's rickety shack in the woods, so it wasn't as if she could miraculously switch on any music. She wouldn't dare disrespect the home of Celeborn and Galadriel in such a way.

The witch freed Haldir from her hold, but did not release his hands. Instead, she turned them over to look at his beaten palms. "Your palms are worn," she noted, trailing a finger across the heel of his hand.

"Many battles have been fought, Ofelia," he replied, freeing his hands from hers. "You would know if you did not stay selfishly imprisoned in that rancid cage you call home."

Ofelia smirked and playfully replied, "Well, at least I'm safe in my cage." She looked past Haldir and into the mirror behind him. "I must speak with Galadriel," said Ofelia seriously, meeting his eyes once more.

"Witches," he teasingly hissed, adjusting his sleeves. Haldir met the witch's eyes with a raised eyebrow. "Everything is always business with you."

"Quite the contrary, oh knowledgeable elf," Ofelia joked, curtsying before him with her nightgown filched between her fingers. "When have I ever spoken business in the presence of elves?"

He ignored her question, instead answering with, "You're still weary. I can see it in your eyes." Haldir's voice had taken on a grim tone. "Give yourself some time. Lady Galadriel could wait centuries for you if need be."

"And I'm not sorry to say that I cannot wait another moment for her," replied the witch. "I must know at once how she recovered my strength and my youth."

That particularly abnormality would not stop pestering Ofelia. She had not clearly recalled what had happened before waking up in a bed at Lothlórien (other than being bathed by hand maidens), but she remembered being held in Boromir's arms as she slowly and painfully aged years beyond her time. She hated when that happened, but it was something inescapable. Ofelia tried not to move very far away each time she had to. The shortest, least painful journey of them all had been when she was moving from her home just outside of North Undeep to the Wold in the upper, uninhabited grasslands of Rohan. Ofelia was always good about remaining out of sight and finding deserted sheds or cabins to live in. Her shack between the Misty Mountains and Lothlórien was the worst of them that she had found, but she took care to make it homely and cozy nonetheless.

"Wouldn't you like to know how your companions are doing?" Haldir asked, an attempt at a subject change. "Surely they are miserable without you."

Ofelia grunted, rolling her eyes at the thought. "Oh, spare me, Haldir. Are they safe?"

His arm fell into a sweeping motion as he gestured toward the majestic land in its entirety. "This is Lothlórien, Ofelia. Of course they're safe."

"Wonderful," she chirped, clasping her hands together. "Now take me to Galadriel and do not protest."

Haldir sighed, but said nothing. Ofelia followed him out of the bedroom and down the length of the open corridor.

She had been to Lothlórien many, many times before. In fact, the witches of Middle-earth used to seek council at Galadriel's home toward the end of the Second Age when Lothlórien became one of the only safe places. When council moved, Ofelia made many visits on her own time. This was when she lived near North Undeep. Haldir had not started guarding the forest's northern borders until about fifty some odd years ago. He gave Ofelia much grief upon their first meeting in the woods as he would not allow her to cross into Galadriel's land. After an argument of quick wit, she praised him for his "adolescent ignorance" and was apprehended. Galadriel quickly ordered for her release and reprimanded the new marchwarden of the forest, telling him that he would be relieved of his duties should he ever again question a witch. No one knew how her constant berating of the elf—each time she returned to Lothlórien—turned into a half-century-long friendship.

Haldir ordered the elf on night watch to send for Galadriel immediately.

He continued to lead Ofelia for a short period of time until they finally arrived at a small, private courtyard. She crossed into it beneath the stone archway, but turned back quickly to Haldir. Ofelia braced herself against his shoulders and looked to him with eyes strangely softened by her many years.

"You are wise, but stubborn," she said, an infectious grin on her face. Ofelia planted a gentle kiss on both of his cheeks before signaling his leave. "Til we meet again."

Haldir smiled and bowed before walking off.

Galadriel was nowhere to be seen. Ofelia ambled the rounded, quiet courtyard, at last realizing that she had not been wearing anything on her feet. She ran her hands along the stone cauldron with tenderness. The witch watched the reflection of the full moon softly waver on the water inside of the large chamber. Carefully, she placed a finger on the surface of the liquid and saw the moon ripple gently before her.

"The thirst for knowledge and the fulfillment of your curious mind will be your downfall, Ofelia the Orange," said Galadriel.

Ofelia jumped and held her hand to her chest. "I hate it when you do that."

Galadriel laughed softly, "I am sorry to startle you." She appeared through the archway with her hands folded in front of her. "It has been a very long time since I have been in the presence of another witch."

Abashedly, Ofelia ran her hands up and down her sides. "I apologize for that, Galadriel. I have been meaning to pay a visit to Lothlórien. It's just that… I can no longer make it very far."

Galadriel nods solemnly. "I know. You are losing your aura, Ofelia. I am worried for you."

Ofelia shrugged and laughed tonelessly. "Maybe my time is approaching, Galadriel." She had wished that Galadriel would not have brought that up in conversation. It became an uncomfortable thought when Ofelia realized how many years (if that) she would have left in Middle-earth. Every witch and wizard that was familiar with Ofelia knew that she could not possibly be around for much longer, not that she hadn't already been around for a long time. The witch made an attempt at a subject change when she replied with a smile, "I think a lesser part of my being misses the days where we would take council here in Lothlórien. Well, that was before the witches all wanted my head severed and posted on a stick."

Galadriel did not find this at all comical. "Ofelia, we must address your health—"

"Please," begged Ofelia, her eyes shut tight. "Let us not. I just want to know how you've done it, Galadriel."

The elf pursed her lips and tried to hide the frown on her face. "I am glad to see that you are well once more," she replied, pacing the courtyard in her lengthy white dress.

"Because of you," Ofelia answered quickly and curtly. "I could do without the reluctance."

"I am reluctant because you are my friend and you will not like what I have to say."

"Well, say it so that I may be scornful sooner than later," demanded Ofelia. She gathered her nightgown into one fist and walked over to where Galadriel stood, firmly planting her feet in place. "I'm _dying_, Galadriel. Do you read my lips clearly? _Dying_. If you were my friend, you would spare me the wait."

Lady Galadriel seemed to swallow hard, her face twitching just slightly. She nodded. "Of course, Ofelia."

"Thank you."

Galadriel took a step back, then two, then three before the back of her knees touched cold stone. She sat down on the bench and patted the empty space next to her. "Sit beside me, friend," she said solemnly. "There is much to tell."

Ofelia took her lower lip into her mouth and nodded. She moved slowly and with much caution toward the bench until finally taking the seat adjacent to the elf. "Would I be better off without knowledge of this strange happening?"

"That is very likely," answered Galadriel. "I do not know if I could ever forgive myself if I did not tell you."

The two sat in silence for a moment. Galadriel was the first to speak.

"I have bestowed a new power source, a new lifeline upon you."

Ofelia's breath hitched in her throat. She whipped her head toward Galadriel and opened her mouth to speak, but lacked the ability to form any words. "A link?" she asked. "How so? What is it?"

Galadriel did not look in her direction. "Remain with the Fellowship always; see to its safe-keeping."

The auburn-haired witch rolled her eyes. "So annoyingly ambiguous, Galadriel. Say what you mean."

There was a brief pause where Galadriel heaved a sigh almost too heavy for her. "I can see it in your eyes, Ofelia the Orange," she replied. "You are willing to die for a cause much greater than your own."

The witch chuckled, "What is this _thing_ that everyone can see in my eyes? Haldir said it was weariness. Yet, here you are, saying it is inclination."

"It _is_ inclination."

Ofelia continued to laugh softly, slowly receding into a chuckle that seemed to sadden her. "It cannot be," she said, begging, choking. The witch turned to Galadriel, the elf finally looked at her. "My home is with the ring?"

"No," Galadriel began. "Your _heart_ is with the ring."

Ofelia placed a hand on her bosom, right above her rapidly beating heart. "And when the deed is done? When the ring is no more?"

Lady Galadriel looked away, blinking slowly in the starlight. "An honorable cause," she answered, seemingly stifling pain within her voice. "My dear witch."

Ofelia's jaw seemed to lock. The witch visibly stiffened under the weight of the news. "Like Sauron? I'll die by the ring, just like Sauron?" she asked, an eyebrow raised. "That hardly feels honorable, Lady Galadriel."

"There was no other option. You will continue to move too much for your heart to call any fixed place 'home'. You require something that will move with you."

The witch shook her head in disbelief. "You could not have enchanted me to my staff?"

"Your heart requires something much more powerful than that."

Ofelia released a strangled sigh, her hand flying to her mouth in disbelief. How could this be happening? It turned out that her golden opportunity at deliverance would be what killed her in the end. If the ring is destroyed, she will die. If it is not destroyed, she will die either by Sauron's forces or at the hands of the witch council. Surely they would catch up with her. She could not even win for losing. Enchanted to the ring? Would it not then completely subdue her?

"What if I am separated from the Fellowship? What happens to me?"

"You will be separated. That fact is fated," Galadriel answered. "The Fellowship is already broken. But as long as the ring exists, you will be stronger than you have ever been before. You will thrive."

"This is unbelievable," said Ofelia, almost reduced to tears. "It feels like a nightmare. A sick, twisted illusion."

"If I am to be honest with you, Ofelia," Galadriel replied. "You did not have very long anyway."

"There you go again," Ofelia hissed. Quickly, she rose from her seat beside the elf and angrily marched the courtyard. "Do not turn this exchange around to discuss my health! I was dying. I know! I was dying before and I am going to die now. You did not amend a single thing, Galadriel. My sudden death is what is fated."

Galadriel went silent at the witch's outburst. Quietly, she began, "Unless you are willing to drop this quest—"

Ofelia interrupted, her eyes narrowed acutely. "I will not."

Galadriel was hurt. She tried not to show it, but she was hurt. She did not want Ofelia to go and face the inevitable either way—her death. Ofelia was the closest thing to a friend that was not family. "Then I cannot help you, Ofelia. And for that I am truly repentant."

The witch swallowed hard. "Well," she began. "Thank you anyway, Galadriel." Ofelia started to walk off before she turned back slowly on her heel. "And… thank you for not abandoning me."


	5. Chapter 5

******Hi! I hope everyone's had a wonderful week. Here's a new chapter! Let's get those reviews up there, guys! Enjoy!**

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The witch had trouble trying to sleep through the night. She lay awake dreading the upcoming days, weeks, months, however long it would take to make sure that the ring met the unforgiving hearth of Mount Doom. Sighing deeply, Ofelia began to question her presence on the journey, her presence in Lothlórien, and even her presence in Middle-earth. She had lived for centuries in the wastelands of others, tucking herself away into a very lonesome solitude in abandoned shacks, cabins, and sheds. She had always known that the end was inevitable and was to come eventually, but she had not expected her new link to the ring to be her executioner. Ofelia had hoped for much more time than that!

She thought only for a moment of uncertainty—where she slapped her palm against her forehead in frustration—about bidding farewell to the members of the Fellowship, making them a group of eight once more. The ring was a burden. That was fairly certain. But she could not just leave them considering the fight she had put up just to be part of the Fellowship of the ring. It was the hobbits that baited her, those damn hobbits. Had not they been so wonderfully small and chipper and delightful... Ofelia grunted and turned over in bed to face the outside world. Starlight hit her face and cast a shadow of her body in bed behind her. The moon seemed to be at its biggest and brightest tonight. Ofelia snarled and muttered a string of obscenity in Elvish.

Ofelia thought that perhaps she should visit the Fellowship down below, but quickly dismissed the idea. She could wait until the next morning to see them. Besides, she was none too eager to cross paths with the sarcastic elf if she did not have to. Who exactly did he think he was speaking to a witch in that tone? Given, it was an unwritten rule that witches not need as much respect as wizards, but she deserved respect nonetheless. Ofelia surely would teach him never to underestimate her ever again.

The padding of quiet yet frantic feet down the corridor roused her from her from the depths of her own mind. Ofelia sat up slightly and braced herself against the mattress. "Who is that?" she called into the darkness, leaning forward to get a closer look into the hallway.

Whoever scurried in the darkness quickly stopped and came forward into the light of her room. It was Nienna, a handmaiden whom she had met many times before. Nienna always tended to her whenever she stayed overnight (at the request of Galadriel and Celeborn) in Lothlórien. She was a young woman, maybe a few decades old, whose quiet demeanor never fit Ofelia's eccentricity.

"_Eärfalas_," Ofelia said exasperatedly. She had always called Nienna by her last name because of some strange habit she fell into. "What in Grey Havens are you doing this late at night?"

Nienna looked like a child being caught doing something inappropriate. She opened her mouth to speak, but stuttered so much that she could not even manage to form coherent words. It was not until then that Ofelia noticed something in the elf's closed hands.

Ofelia's eyebrow rose in suspicion. "What is that in your hands which you hide from me?" Ofelia gestured for the young elf to step further into the starlight. "Come closer."

Timidly, Nienna walked forward while keeping her hands tightly clasped in front of her. "Please, do not be angry with me, Lady Ofelia," the handmaiden pleaded. "I wished not to be put into this predicament."

"Why would I be angry with you? I have not caught you stealing anything, have I?"

"No! No!" said the elf while shaking her head. "I would never, Lady Ofelia!"

"So what have you done?" asked the witch, her tolerance for the discussion quickly thinning.

Nienna seemed to shrink away. She stuttered, "I—I haven't done anything, Lady Ofelia."

Ofelia, quickly losing her patience, grabbed Nienna by her wrist and pulled her forward. The young handmaiden shrieked as she had not expected the witch to be so rough with her. Ofelia had not been angry with the elf before, but her hesitance and distrustful demeanor suddenly infuriated the witch. It had not been a very good night to begin with and now she had Nienna trying to hide things from her. If she was stealing from Galadriel or Celeborn, Ofelia would personally walk her to the northern border and leave her there. No one was going to take advantage of the Lady of Light while Ofelia was around.

"You promised not to be angry!" shrieked the elf as she tried to pull away. "Lady Ofelia, please!"

Ofelia kept hold of Nienna's wrist, but reached for the collar of her gown and balled a wad of the fabric into her fist. Irately, she pulled the handmaiden to her so that their faces were mere centimeters apart. "I promised nothing, Eärfalas. You unwisely gave me reason to be angry with you. Now, you will tell me what you hide in your hands or Galadriel will hear about this. Understood?"

Nienna's eyes teared up as she nodded. Ofelia released her with a grunt. Nienna took a step back and held out her hands to the witch, fearfully opening them to her. In her palms was a single saffron feather. Confused, Ofelia took the feather from her hands and observed it in the plentiful moonlight. Her eyebrow rose once more as she turned the plume around between her fingers.

"I'm sorry, Lady Ofelia!"

"Is this from an arrow?" asked the witch without looking away from the feather.

Nienna nodded fiercely. "The elf told me—"

Ofelia's head snapped up quickly. "The elf? Which elf?"

"—to give it to you. He told me that you would appreciate something comforting, or he may have mentioned something about a peace offering. I could not tell if it was out of affection or transgression so I was just going to leave it at your bedside table, but you were awake and startled me—"

"_Which elf_?" hissed Ofelia.

"—and I really did not wish to be involved in whatever is going on between you and—"

Ofelia had just about lost it. Her eyes clearly conveyed her anger. Slowly, she wound the fabric of Nienna's gown around her hand and threateningly glared at her. "Eärfalas_, __which elf sent this__?"_

Nervously, Nienna looked down at her dress being twisted around Ofelia's wrist. It had taken Ofelia the better part of an hour to get an answer from Nienna that had not been vague. It was not until Ofelia threatened to have the elf beheaded that she actually received a reaction from her. For the record, Ofelia had not been serious at all when she told Nienna that. She never wished or wanted to be responsible for any vulnerable, innocent creature's death. The elf wept in the witch's arms for a very long time right before she named the owner of the arrow that the plume had come from.

"I would never have you beheaded, Nienna," Ofelia said after a bout of silence. She stroked the elf maiden's hair gently and held her closely to her bosom. "You have been very good to me," she cooed. "Now, go on. Rest."

Morning seemed to come quickly following the departure of the weeping handmaiden. Ofelia still could not decide what to do with the saffron feather. After the moment of thought she had had last night, she finally decided to keep it.

Nienna came back that morning with Ofelia's orange cloak and staff in hand. She seemed to be no longer timidly treading the granite floors with her head bowed. Ofelia flashed a large smile at the sight of her belongings being brought back to her. She rose quickly and took her things from the hands of the patient, waiting elf maiden in the center of the room.

"Ah, what a most wondrous sight!" she said excitedly, sifting through her belongings. "My dress… My crown… Where are they?" Ofelia narrowed her eyes playfully. "You have not stolen anything, I trust?"

The face of the handmaiden flushed. "Lady Ofelia, I would never!"

"I'm teasing, my dear," Ofelia replied.

Nienna walked out abruptly only to return with freshly pressed fabric folded in her arms. She handed the pile to Ofelia and took a few steps backward. "These are from Lady Galadriel. She said that they are better suited for a long journey."

Ofelia placed the pile on the bed and unfolded the clothing. There was a pair of brown riding pants, a gray, fitted long-sleeved shirt, and what appeared to be a corset of armor. Nienna hurried away and brought back a pair of brown, leather riding boots, setting them on the bed in front of the witch.

"There is also a cloak for you. Camouflage, Lady Galadriel said. She was not the least bit certain if you would be willing to leave yours behind."

Ofelia quickly snapped her head up and nodded. "Of course. Anything for the Lady." Ofelia took the brown cloak from Nienna after she had fetched it from the adjacent room. The witch sent Nienna away, but not before thanking her with a hug and waltzing her out of the bedroom. She still bore a great deal of regret for threatening such a delicate being with execution.

Ofelia stripped out of her satin nightgown and put on all of the clothing that Galadriel had given her. She loved wearing dresses and would most definitely miss her crown of flowers as well as her cape, but she could not deny the Lady of Light's many gifts. Besides, it would be better for her. Orange was not a good color to wear in the forest when trying to avoid attracting attention. And Ofelia sure did look ready to fight with the heavy plate of steel wrapped around her chest. She donned the cloak with the large hood flipped down and lying on her shoulders. Ofelia worked the dagger from the pocket in her orange cloak into the side of her riding boots, making certain that she could not be cut by the blade.

Before taking her staff, she pocketed the saffron plume. Ofelia walked the corridors until coming to an opening with a spiral set of stairs winding around a large tree. Ofelia took the steps slowly for she could not afford to fall in front of all watching elves. At last, she reached the bottom and was directed to the vaporous riverside by a watch elf.

The Fellowship watched in awe as she approached. She no longer seemed like an angel in yesterday's pure white dress, but a warrior in those clothes. They had almost forgotten how frail and elderly she had been in Boromir's arms. The hobbits cracked the largest smiles that she had ever seen in her many centuries in Middle-earth. Aragorn and Boromir smirked simultaneously and nodded. Gimli tried to keep his jaw from dropping and Legolas… smiled.

"Hello, Fellowship!" she sing-songed, a skip in her step. "I hope I have not kept you all for too long."

Celeborn smiled softly. "Of course not, Ofelia."

"I must be the first one to say it, Miss Ofelia," began Aragorn. "You look very much like a warrior."

Ofelia stopped in mid-step. She looked down at her clothes and felt the burlap-like cloak between two of her fingers. Confused, she asked, "And… that is a good thing? Is it not?"

"It is a wonderful thing," Celeborn assured.

The Fellowship had already received similar cloaks from the congregation of elves on either side of Celeborn. The Lord ofLothlórien led the Fellowship toward the lakeside where Elven boats adorned the glittering water. Gimli climbed into the boat in front of her. She decided (very hastily) that she enjoyed the company of the dwarf and chose to board after him. Boromir offered to help the witch into the boat, but she waved him off, although not before thanking him for his gallantry. She gently steadied the moving craft with her hand before placing one foot inside of the boat. Ofelia prayed to all higher Middle-earth beings that she would not fall once more and embarrass herself again while in the company of so many. She managed to climb into the craft behind Gimli and rested easy once the ebbing vessel steadied in the water.

The witch set her staff across her lap and simply watched the interactions around her. Aragorn was helping the hobbits into boats while Boromir himself was climbing into one. Ofelia felt the boat shift softly on the water meaning that someone else must have climbed in behind her. She turned around to face the Mirkwood elf who stood confidently at the back of the vessel with a paddle in his hands.

"I received your gift at quite an ungodly hour of night," said Ofelia. "How rude of you to send such a contemptuous offering to me."

"It was not meant to be contemptuous at all, Miss Ofelia," answered Legolas, his voice level. "Did the handmaiden not clarify?"

"She seemed just as puzzled as I was. She mentioned something along the lines of a 'peace offering' from an elf. I did not believe her when she told me that it was you."

Legolas chuckled quietly. "A peace offering indeed. Gifts from Elven kin are never contemptuous."

"Well," the witch began. "Excuse me if your contemptuous nature yesterday offset your overly _gracious_ character."

"I meant you neither harm nor foul," he answered. "I apologize if it appeared as so."

Ofelia smirked was smug. "Forgiven… my dear Legolas."

There was a moment of brief silence. The boats still sat at the lakeside, not yet untethered to continue onward with the journey. Aragorn seemed to be finalizing things with his vessel before he nodded to both Boromir and Legolas who were also manning the paddles.

He smiled even though the witch could not see it. "I see that you are well once more, Miss Ofelia."

Ofelia nodded. "Galadriel is very knowledgeable about the way in which things occur." The witch turned to the side to face the lake. "I am indebted. I owe my life to her," she continued in a somber tone.

"All of Middle-earth likely does," he answered, dipping the paddle into the water and pushing off of land. "Have you not bid her farewell?"

The witch grunted. "I selflessly spared her my goodbye. After all is done I do hope to see her again." She looked out into the distance to see Galadriel standing at a break in the forest. A solemn look was adorning her face as she raised her hand to bid farewell. Ofelia's face broke into a shadow of a smile. "This is not goodbye."


End file.
